Shadows like Statues
by much ado over something
Summary: I wish I could pass this over, but that would be ridiculous. What I write, however, is probably even more so. This is a story involving Jounouchi Katsuya and Seto Kaiba. Stay tuned and see if it progresses from there.
1. Remember to Feel Real

Hello, ladies and gents – but mostly ladies, I suppose. This fan fiction, entitled "Shadows like Statues", does, indeed, use the song "Shadows like Statutes" (by Matchbook Romance) as a minute crutch. And, dears, I do mean _minute. _After all, the sole "thing", for lack of terms, being borrowed is the name of the song – and it's being used for a title, at that (as I am too lazy or lack the creative initiative to come up with a title of my own). For those of you who are impatiently reading through this dabbling of nonsense I thank you – and do my best to assure you that the song plays no role in this story or in the events that occur. If anything is similar it is purely coincidental and most regrettable.

May I also state, for those that care and those that don't care (especially those that don't care), I do not own these characters – and nor do I wish to own them. I have enough separate personalities running about my head to keep me sane enough, thank you very much. These characters, mainly Seto Kaiba and Jounouchi Katsuya are being borrowed, temporarily, of course. Though I do not own the characters, I also make no claim to the plot to make me feel more important than I, in reality, am. I am positive situations such as this have arisen in many stories elsewhere and, as such, I am certain they have been much better composed.

Be that as it may, please refrain from leaving such comments as "Dis sucks. Go 2 hell u biatch." An acceptable comment would be such: "This sucks. Go to hell, you bitch." Comprehend the difference? Grammar, grammar, grammar – no matter how grammatically correct that was. School begins shortly, my doves, and I must keep an academic mentality. Blah blah blah. Maybe not. Or maybe. But, you don't want to hear about my private woes, do you? You just want me to shut the hell up and get on with this. Yes?

If you answered "no", you're lying.

**Things to Keep in Mind While Reading: **

Seto Kaiba is twenty-three years of age (turning twenty-two years on October 25th) and Jounouchi Katsuya is twenty-four years of age (having turned twenty-two years on January 25th). I'm afraid I cannot tell you much more – it will all be revealed in time (a.k.a. the first paragraph – ok, not really). I haven't decided whether to through in a sensual chapter – I may, I may not. If you'd like to voice an opinion on this, go ahead; otherwise, I will probably not. Oh, but don't worry, there will be much whispered words over broken figures.

Perhaps.

* * *

**Chapter One: **Remember to Feel Real

**Warnings: **None that I can fathom at the moment – perhaps a touch of language and obscene gestures. The latter may or may not be true.

* * *

Grasping tendrils of breath stirred the blades of wilted glory like the remembrance of a lover's vicious caress in the heat of a foreign city; in the heat of a nonexistent passion. The vehement stir of atmosphere wove past tangible beings with words of fury and held tight those things insubstantial so that a night may pass without the constant rousing of sensitive creatures to brutal visions. As long as the specters were detained, contained, the night would pass in peace – not a mournful cry to break the silence or a rapid intake of breath to pressure the composed tranquility. All was well.

All was well simply because nothing was wrong.

No infant flickered to darkness in the vivid pulsation of night and no lovers sought arms of more compassionate forces: indeed, the night was still but for the quavering moonlight and the whispering wind. Birds nestled deep into wooden nests as humans nestled deep into steel frames, the curve of a lover's hip softening the embrace of sleep. Hands were held and words formed, passing the lips of one into the ears of another – unpleasant words for the grimace formed on the countenance of the receiver. A shaky movement pursued and the light flickered on, the electricity paling in the deep contemplation of the surrounding ebony. The pressing in of night.

"Leave me."

"But it's dark out – be reasonable. Let me stay until morning."

Pause. "No." She would not entangle him further in her bed of pleasant lies. "Leave."

"For how long? One night? One hour?"

"Forever."

"You don't mean that." She ran a finger along his lips, gently tracing the trembling petals as she moved forward to bestow a kiss. He was hers.

"I do." He turned his head, offering his cheek instead of his lips. He would not be ensnared – not this time.

"But –"

"No. Leave."

"Where to?"

"I don't care. Just leave." His voice had risen: fire now burned his veins and rose to his cheeks as he subdued any questions with a gaze. Evidently, a piercing one. She had no will: she left. Another memory for another night – just like all the others.

With a click that broke the serenity of night like a gunshot the door shut, erasing yet a further face from the endless list that haunted the vast abyss of the solitary man. Alone again; alone, at last. Should he not have been happy? Should he at least have been pleased that one look and scarce words commanded such attention – commanded obedience. He should have been thrilled. The man knew it, the luster in his eyes reminded him of that, and yet he was less than thrilled. To put it simply, the Co-owner of the most successful company in operation was desolate. The lines of his face curved more easily into a grimace or a frown than they did a smile or a grin. Imagine, twenty-something years old and he had yet to find real enjoyment in life. Certainly there had been that one stint with "Duel Monsters" back when sweet teenage hormones had controlled his thoughts and pleasures, but the playing of the game had been out of his mind for some time. All he wished for now was to keep successful the company. Incidentally, his company.

Sort of.

If he remembered how it had come about, he showed no sign as he slipped into robe and headed downstairs, turning at all the appropriate corners until the void of the blind crept upon him like a fog at morning. Easily enough, the man gave into it, descending the steps with an air of unrefined purpose: he had no idea what he was doing – or why he was lying to himself.

The company was failing.

There, he had admitted it. The company had been failing for some time now, for at least six years – he doubted it had been plummeting steadily downward before that. With a cupped hand to his chin in pursuing thought his mind stumbled over reasons for such a spiral towards the brimstone lake. One word, nay, one name, rose to his lips at this reasoning: he was not as unintelligent as many were bound to believe. Though, with these past few years of smoky bars and forgotten encounters, he could easily understand why the public considered him one of the lowest beings in creation. And all because of that one duel – the one moment in time where he had believed Lady Fortune to grace him with a piece of her glory. How wrong he was.

Indeed the moment had been grand, the hushed silence and the defeated surprise; but, shortly, the ecstasy of conquering a foe had evaporated into the air, leaving the man cold, frightened, and quite alone. Alone, at least, in the spiritual sense. A man with much money to spend and a failing company, it seemed, was a prime target to bed – to shame past all recognition. Of course he had let it occur; had let countless strangers endanger his nights for hope of redemption in some form. This redemption had yet to come. And still, he waited for it. He waited for it wide eyed and tender pulsed in the cradle of night.

He waited for it then, just as he waited for it now.

Waited for it as he crossed the wide expanse of empty property that surrounded him; the dull leaves that plunged to the crushed grass – surely, this was Hell. The hot night consumed him just as the fires of the sinners would consume him as time took liberty to break his proud form. Once proud form, rather. It had been slumped as of late, his shoulders hunched in an attempt to shell out the rest of the world. To not listen, to not care. What did he require of them anyway? Could they breathe life into the company deserted so long ago? Could they feed his flesh and soul the way he desired? He doubted it. The man doubted it to the very core of his being. There was no help to be had in this desolation.

His laugh filled the air at this thought, the once rich tones breaking irregularly into the dreams and torments of his dormant neighbors. Why should he care if they awoke and saw him seated on a bench in naught but a robe? It had happened thrice before and, doubtlessly, it would happen thrice again. This time, however, was to be different. The man had decided that simple fact the moment had had glimpsed the statue beside him shift. Surely such things were not possible; and he had given up on fairy tales long ago.

Keeping his voice in check the man roused from his position, walking keenly towards the marble of Adonis that ghosted across his vision. Had that statue been there yesterday? He hadn't been sure – noticing such things was beyond him, the world contained no effortless pleasures anymore. The man was within five feet of the statue now, his dark eyes narrowed in attempt to see past the glare of the moon – of the howling of the wind.

Ah, yes, the wind. Why hadn't he noticed that before? That which was obvious he should have taken into account. He did now. The man took into account, and he noticed. Noticed the slight sweep of the traveled coat the man wore, of the strands of chocolate that whipped across the no longer foreign face. This was no statue. Whether or not it, he, rather, was an Adonis was debatable. Due to current situations that had arisen in absence, the man would decide, for the mean time, no. This was no Adonis – this was a demon from the very pit of hell, come to claim him for past and present sins. Perhaps uncommitted errs as well – it would not be surprising if that was the case. Oh, indeed – let that be the case.

"You're back." The words were whispered, slight relief and hatred mixed into a simple phrase, a phrase only complicated by the emotions that blackened it.

"Was I ever gone?" The reply was short, the statue had spoken. His lips had parted in a moment and the eyes had blinked sharply open, fixing the other man with a strong gaze. And, though the lips had returned back to repose, the eyes still bore into those of the other. This night, it seemed, would offer no tranquility – not for two inhabitants, at least. What others stirred because of the words exchanged will not be bothered with, for this story lies between the conversations and glances of the two men attempting to knock the other dead with a mere look.

"It wasn't my fault, y'know. _You _made the proposition. And _you _lost it. There's no one to blame but yourself."

"I know." His eyes shone as he spoke, penetrating the vacant space much better than the eyes of the other, for light seemed to be captured and stilled in them. The Adonis was in complete control, it would be him to first utter a name into the stony air. "Will you continue to stand there dumbstruck, or will you invite me inside, Katsuya? I have no time for your insignificant contemplations – do attempt to stimulate brain cells to quicker reaction times."

Cold. As ice.

No, the man labeled Katsuya, decided: the voice and the words were much more glacial than ice – and much more detestable. Kaiba, for that was the name of the seeming Adonis, had not at all changed; not, at least, in the mental aspect. Was it imagination or was it reality that punctuated Katsuya's mind – did the cerulean eyes that stared him down seemed fainter? Dulled with want and remorse, possibly – or did the shallow caprices of the brunette billionaire run deeper than time and thicker than blood? He mentally shook off that thought – when had he ever cared for the likes of Seto Kaiba? And when had Kaiba ever offered caring sentiments for the one called Jounouchi Katsuya? Never. In fact, Jounouchi believed there only to be one person Kaiba actually cared for – and that one person had been swept away by an early grave years ago. Jounouchi felt a swell of pity for the man before him; the man who had lost his love and his life – so now only returned to the eternal embrace of loneliness. Yes, the life of Seto Kaiba was far more despondent that the one of Jounouchi Katsuya.

"Well?"

That cool voice, the irritated glance – all thoughts of pity were abandoned as Jounouchi replied to the question Kaiba had posed. "Go home, Kaiba. You're not wanted here." Or anywhere it seemed. The man's face spoke of fatigue and wear – in one word, travel. And much of it. From the state of Kaiba's apparel, usually crisp in appearance, but now limp and haggard, Jounouchi conjectured the man opposite his moonlit form had been in equal hardships; perhaps made even more intolerable by the grasp of death and depression of loss.

However the man was fatigued, though, his figure stiffened and features tightened as he was rejected from the only place he knew of. Certainly he could walk the twenty or so mile distance to his own residence, but those cold halls had not known a human touch in many years – it would be most unpleasant to travel to his once labeled "home". Now, however, it might have suited him better – he had always been deemed an "Ice Prince" or, in the rare occasion, "Ice Queen". That nickname of sorts disturbed him the most, for he had yet to make claim to either male or female preference, but perhaps others knew of something he did not. He despised that idea. "So be it," he told Katsuya, his eyes involuntarily lowering in arrogant defeat as he turned on heel and began the great journey to his own residence; coat flapping roughly in the wind and hair tossed around on the grasps of hostility.

Jounouchi hesitated a moment, his voice faltering in his throat as a robe-clad arm reached towards Kaiba, the well formed hand at the end of the arm grabbing hold of the fluttering jacket. The brunette turned. Sapphire boring holes into honey as silence reigned: finally, Kaiba turned away and, with a light shake, was free of the other man's grasp.

"Wait."

The one word stopped the brunette in his tracks, his figure turning mildly to face the man who had spoken. "Yes?" The word was simply uttered and plainly spoken – no emotion showed on the smooth countenance now.

"You can stay. For tonight," the man added hastily, under the gaze of the cerulean youth. "C'mon."

For once, Kaiba obeyed, his proud cut form following after the other male in grave silence as if to lie to rest all that had been disturbed. Feet covered distances in grass until a gentle and brief click, once more, filled the silence – allowing two forms to enter the mansion of Jounouchi Katsuya. Mansion – yes, that is what it was. No run down apartment or rugged shack – the blonde haired man owned a piece of work that may have given Kaiba's first mansion a run for its money, so to speak. Kaiba had long since sold the manor in question and, as of recent times, kept only one – one that had no right to be kept and no right to be deserted. He was in a most regrettable position.

"Coffee?"

Kaiba was broken from his musings when a cup, filled with a warm substance was pressed into his hands, almost hard enough to be called forcefully. An eyebrow rose gracefully – he may have been travel worn, but old elegance never failed.

"You looked like you needed it," Katsuya replied in response to the quirked eyebrow. "So," the blonde said lightly, silencing his few words with a look from the other man. Damn it. Jounouchi had never enjoyed the way that Kaiba treated him – it had always made him feel horribly inferior. So, as he abhorred the way he was treated by the brunette, he abhorred the brunette. This feeling of absolute hatred swelled in his breast with every glance – or thought- towards the other, but he mastered it. Mastered it now; yes, he was able to control the savage beast that would have lodged him around Kaiba's throat had they both been sixteen years of age again. Seventeen years, even.

Eighteen?

No.

That year had been traumatizing, for the once sole owner and runner of Kaiba Corporation. Mokuba Kaiba – dead. Dead dead dead. The word echoed through Jounouchi's mind as he looked up to find Kaiba studying him with hard eyes, dead eyes. The whole world was dead to him – and by "him" either man could have easily fit. Though the actual events had never been disclosed, Jounouchi had heard whispers that Mokuba Kaiba had raised a hand against himself, his brother, Seto Kaiba, having found the boy swinging mercilessly and lifelessly from the grand and central staircase from the marble prison. It seemed that the remaining Kaiba had yet to recover – that was evident by his eyes. Always the eyes. And perhaps the lines of the lips and forehead, but too much study allotted for too many awkward situations and equally awkward questions.

"Your ownership of Kaiba Corporation has polluted its once pure waters. You're killing _my_ company."

Jounouchi met Kaiba's eyes with a start as the brunette spoke, his words falling on deaf ears – Katsuya cared not for such matters. "Then you shouldn't have given it to me. You shouldn't have kept your word."

"I always keep my word."

"Always?"

Pause. "No."

"It wasn't your fault."

Silence.

"Kaiba?"

"Yes?"

"I said it wasn't your fault."

"I heard you."

Jounouchi sighed at the frigid quality Kaiba's voice, sighed at the tight lines drawn firm across the man's lips – apparently this subject was not to be discussed. And still, Jounouchi felt that it needed to be discussed – for who else would hear Kaiba through? A wall. A rock. Yes, those would, but Jounouchi could, at least, pretend to act human; pretend to show an ounce of sympathy. But, Kaiba didn't want sympathy. It seemed, to the honey eyed youth, at least, that the man wanted release. From life? Perhaps. From this life? Even more so, perhaps.

The two, in hatred, were more similar than they had been years before in passionate fury – more furious than passionate, but a fair amount of yelling and name-calling had gone on. It was almost pleasant to know they were past that know – almost. Jounouchi would have given almost anything to go back in time, just turn back the clock, and lose the match to Kaiba. He wouldn't have been nauseatingly rich, then, but he would have been happy – content, to an extent. All he did now was work. Day in, day out. Night in, night out. It was disgusting – and helped him to dissect the mentality of Seto Kaiba. Dissect it to such a point did he that, when his friends left for various cities in various countries, he was cold and distant. No mournful farewell or crude joke was ushered from his lips – not even for his closest friend.

But it was best not to think of that, he was sure his look had softened; which might have accounted for the odd way in which the tall brunette was looking at him. "What?" he snapped irritably, taking a sip of his coffee as Kaiba lowered his gaze in tranquil modesty, offering a mute "nothing" in response. "Sorry," Jounouchi murmured as his gaze was cast from Kaiba's form – he was tired. And irritable. Both men were. "Go get some sleep, Kaiba," Katsuya told the man lightly as he walked towards him and removed the untouched coffee from his hand. Cold hand. Such a cold hand, to match with an equally cold heart. "If you feel as bad as y'look, you could do with some rest."

"You have no insight as to how I feel, Katsuya, so I suggest you keep your dimwitted thoughts out of places they have no right to wander unchecked," Kaiba replied coldly, turning from the frown of Jounouchi and towards the almost welcoming form of the couch. He did not want to burden Katsuya with request for a bed – that would have been ridiculous and well beneath him, especially as he planned to make an early escape in the morrow and head for his own…residence. Yes, he would settle on calling it that – "home", as it was, did not fit. And, if he had his way "residence" would soon cease to perfect the puzzle as well.

"Where y'goin', Kaiba?"

The youth turned at the voice from behind him, looking into the nearly concerned eyes of Jounouchi Katsuya. Hatred fired deep in those orbs, but for that Kaiba cared not – hatred with such a person was no stranger. Oddly enough, Kaiba found the cutting emotion almost soothing. Some things would evermore remain steady. Constant. Just what he needed.

"You're a guest," the blonde continued, after allotting time for Kaiba to answer – a liberty not taken by the brunette. "Y' don't sleep on a couch. C'mon, I've got room upstairs," he stated with a brief nod of recognition to the upper regions of his home. As Kaiba had not yet made a move to tread upstairs, Jounouchi, ready himself to gain sleep, snapped, "What are y'? 'Fraid a the dark?" It was a taunt. A tease – a dangerous one for what Kaiba had been through.

"Sometimes."

"Ain't we all." Pause. "C'mon. You'll fall asleep standing – and so will I. I, personally, would much prefer a bed." Without another word to the brunette Jounouchi mounted the stairs, lethargic steps leading the way to a guest bedroom – the one, incidentally, furthest from his room. "Y' can sleep here. Pajamas in the second drawer on the right hand side," he commented after a moment of thought. And you can wash your clothes tomorrow – and shower. You're starting to smell – more so than usual," Jounouchi said with a faint grin. The first one it seemed, he had cracked in ages – and, imagine, it was at the aid of a most desperate foe of his. What an inconvenient and unusual situation.

That said, he left Kaiba to his own devices – no call of "good night" or any falsity. He had enough men and women to spin them…and those people were not even staying the night. They never did. Never would: he, simply, would not allow it. Returning to his own quarters, the youth paced. Back and forth. And forth and back. The night soon took leave and morning rose to the occasion, the blushing rays of the early sun affectionately spreading over land and its inhabitants. It was at this time that Jounouchi Katsuya finally found a bit of repose. Perhaps everyone was afraid of the dark, after all.

* * *

Wow. Sorry that was boring to read, but foundations must be gotten through first before the actually events can occur. We'll see how it goes. Please review, I suppose. Though, after that chapter you might not want to – I think I'd be quite discouraged of reviews sayings "That was boooooooooooring". Yeah, I know. And, yeah, I do apologize, I didn't mean for that to occur – or for it to take so long to occur. Well, anyway, I'm dead tired (so beware the typos and poorly communicated words towards the end).

XXOO


	2. Wait for No One

Right. So. No long introduction this time - only my thanks, whatever they're worth. Firstly, thank you to everyone who's bothered to click on the link to this story – whether it was accidentally or whether you were actually interested in whatever was stirring in the story's depths. Secondly, and mostly, I suppose, thank you to fallen-angel-of-repression, who actually bothered to write a reply (and one that held me in a decent light, at that).

So, thank you all. And, without much further ado, I present to you Chapter Two of Shadows like Statues.

* * *

**Chapter Two: **Wait for No One

**Warnings: **Language, sarcasm, and all out hatred. And maybe some sexual tension thrown in for good measure.

* * *

To Jounouchi Katsuya it came as no surprise to arise from yet another night of restless slumber to discover the house utterly devoid of life. The blonde man was more than used to waking up without the comforting embrace and warm touch of a partner or the sanguine call of "Good morning", but both aspects still would have been pleasant - pleasant reminders that life isn't always hidden in pools of shadows or the undergarments of a devastating prostitute. As it was, however, he wandered the aging halls of Katsuya Manor in ill attempt to stumble upon a note that might have been left by last night's phantom.

Maybe it had been a dream – in all honesty, it wouldn't have been surprising if his imagination had created the whole illusion to keep him company. This conclusion was only doubted by the less-than-adequate note Jounouchi had found lying innocently on the pale pillow that had been used before by a strange presence.

13KJC01M194

After a brief muttering of "What the fuck" Jounouchi had crumpled the note in his fist and deposited it in the trashcan beside the bed – the bed where he fancied he could detect the previous form of the other. The slight indents formed by the lean body, the tired scent worn by the travel-torn man: it was all there. Or he was just going crazy. But the note, that was what kept him sane. As far as he knew, phantoms were not capable of writing – or even locating a pen and paper.

Maybe he was wrong, though, he mused as he made the commute to work; suit crisp and eyes flashing dangerously at the people he passed by. Some skirted around him, their eyes plastered to the floor and breathing irregular, while others offered a grin and a wink that sent blood pounding to nether regions of his body and a faint blush to his cheeks. Upon entering the impressive building of Kaiba Corporation Jounouchi had, for the most part, successfully banished the urge to grab whoever walked by and pound them into oblivion – nearly, as stated. Any slight brush up of an unfamiliar person sent shivers down his spine and sweat upon his brow.

It was going to be a long day.

"Fuck this!" A long day, indeed. As the man attempted to press in his password "error messages" kept popping up on the computer screen that faced him. Now this was embarrassing: the owner of a company not even able to get into his own building. Again, though, what the fuck? At least, the man reasoned, no one was there to observe him in his moments of trial and error – ever since computers more accurate than humans had come along Seto Kaiba had set about systematically dropping employees. Floor by floor. Needless to say, Floor One was devoid of human life – all the way up to Floor Seventy-Seven. Jounouchi had made it so those working on floors any higher up couldn't be fired. It was, after all, his company, too.

Pounding in endless combinations of numbers and letters an aggravated sigh emitted from the pursed lips of the company owner, his face forming a scowl and his eyes darkening with every passing moment. As soon as this look had intensified, however, it had been lost – the scowl changing into a look of defeating and his body rocking forward and leaning on a nearby wall for support – shit like this always happened to guys like him. Always. There had to be a book about it somewhere – he was sure of it.

"When'd the password even change?" he muttered under his breath, long fingers massaging his temples to decrease the throbbing sensation that was rushing through him. "And why wasn't I told?" Yes, he had meant to voice these comments to himself, but it seemed that another was present. How irritating – and yet, oddly fortunate.

"Because you weren't present." Pause. "I believe you were still sleeping."

"Well," snapped the blonde, anger lining his body as he turned to face the smug countenance of Kaiba, "I don't see you in any meetings presently – so you must be late, as well." Lies, all lies – and, worst of all, Jounouchi knew it. Kaiba had never been one to enjoy idle time and simply "dawdle" about. Oh no. For that statue, time was money. And money was time. Figure that one out.

"Oh, Katsuya, don't fool yourself. I was merely coming to collect you – a job no one else seemed up to," Kaiba drawled on arrogantly, victory flooding into his eyes as he scanned the defeated form of his high school rival. "Ambrosius Melkor made it seem as if you were the bane of his – and the company's - existence. Isn't that interesting?" The rhetorical question made Jounouchi frown; he had never gotten along with the Vice President of the company. And, as far as he cared to concern himself, he never would. As Jounouchi had kept his mouth shut, Kaiba continued without break, "I left a slip of paper with the password on it for you – did you not receive it this morning?"

Ah. Shit. "I – I didn't realize that was what the writing meant."

"Evidently."

"Fuck off, Kaiba."

"Reverting to old habits, Katsuya? Doubtless to say you don't expect me to do the same, unless you have no objection of my calling you "Mutt" in the board room, of course?"

As the heat pricked at Jounouchi's cheeks Kaiba merely laughed, a mirthless laugh, and strode over to the computer, typing in the password with diligent fingers. Of course now the door opened – of course Jounouchi would notice the haughty look on Kaiba's face. It was all too obvious.

Through the twisting corridors the two traveled, the blonde man trailing behind the other much like the "mutt" he was imagined to be. It was disgusting. These past six years he had been in utter control: his authority had not been checked. And now, now with the sudden reappearance of the one time owner and full time bastard Jounouchi had peacefully rolled aside and assumed the subordinate position. It was a position he assumed during the elaborate (and exceedingly dull) meetings and various conferences. On and on and on – finally, however, they came to an end.

A sharp tap on his shoulder alerted to the dark eyed man that it was time to leave the office and (attempt) to rest at home – he doubted rest would be possible, especially with the likes of Seto Kaiba staying with him. But wait. Wait wait wait wait a minute – Kaiba wasn't staying with him. That was something to look forward to. Gracing the world with a grin Jounouchi cleared the seat of his body and jauntily walked to the door – only to find the elegant form of Kaiba blocking it.

"Outta my way, Kaiba."

"Are you growling at me, Katsuya?" the man asked, blue eyes narrowing in contempt. "Old habits are difficult to break, it appears," Kaiba mused, his attention breaking for Katsuya and exploring more intricate folds of his brain.

"Shuddap. What do you want?"

"To be with you."

"Huh?" Had he just heard Kaiba properly? No. No, he couldn't have. But wait. What?

"To stay with you. And do refrain from saying 'huh' like the imbecile you are – you head a company, act like it."

Oh, well, that changed things – perhaps he had imagined what Kaiba had seemed to, at first, say. Or not. At the moment, he couldn't have been sure. "Shuddap." An arched brunette eyebrow in response. "Fine. Shut up. Shut the fuck up, you fucking bastard. You think you can disappear for six years and all of a sudden come back into my life? It's not that easy."

"You make it sound as if we had a personal relationship, Katsuya," Kaiba noted calmly, sending fire to rise to the cheeks of the blonde.

"I – what? Shut up." Was all that Jounouchi managed to choke out. The poor boy didn't even bother to ask Kaiba's intentions. For the moment, he'd just have to pretend like he wasn't curious. Even the littlest bit.

"I'll take that as a 'yes', then?"

"Whatever. Just, don't get in my way."

"As long as you stay out of mine," Kaiba responded, breezing out the door with the steps that Jounouchi had envied him for in earlier years – and still, most likely, envied him for.

Glowering in silence as Kaiba strode away Jounouchi finally moved from the boardroom, slowly making the way back to his home – extremely slowly, mark you. He had it in his mind to stop by a bar and bring back a partner or two, but he didn't want to pressure his new housemate. In fact, Jounouchi didn't even know why he had no desire to put any strain on Kaiba – it was an odd sensation, and one that he hoped would end quickly. After all, glances and slight touches were enough to excite him – he was disgusting. Like a fucking prostitute, himself. Perhaps with Kaiba around all that would end.

Or, perhaps, it would only get worse.

* * *

Yeah. Short, I know.

Thank you for reading Chapter Two of Shadows like Shadows – I really appreciate it. So. You read – and now you reply. Easy as pie, right? Well. Ok, no. You don't have to reply – that you read it is enough for me. Thanks again.

XXOO


End file.
